


And This Is How It Starts

by pukeandcry



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Secret Relationship, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-16 00:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1324567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pukeandcry/pseuds/pukeandcry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>To be fair, probably Harry’s no more surprised about the fact that Nick’s fucking Niall Horan than Nick is himself.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	And This Is How It Starts

**Author's Note:**

> you know that thing where you suddenly start thinking about [NIACK](https://24.media.tumblr.com/c50aa392e6a5f629c1f2ec0c3f5121c9/tumblr_n1mg72W1SM1rs3fw4o1_500.png) [GRORAN](http://31.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mbiz05k0bl1r3wk77o1_500.gif) and then it TAKES OVER YOUR LIFE and 48 hours later you barf 8,000+ words of it up? THAT'S THE THING.

It would be a bit worrisome, really, the way Harry’s face has gone all red, if it wasn’t so bloody _funny_. It’s entirely possible he’s on the verge of passing out, as far as Nick can tell, and he hopes he doesn’t, because then Nick won’t be able to relish this memory in the future without feeling guilty about having watched Harry brain himself. That’d be a shame. He really, really wants to treasure this moment.

And honestly, he _ought_ to feel a bit bad, even if Harry does manage to stay upright. Being surprised by Nick’s naked arse is probably a shock in any situation, and this context particularly, when he thinks about it, must be -- unexpected.

“I have a key,” Harry blurts out, and Nick’s not sure who he’s telling -- Nick, who’s obviously aware of this fact, since he’s the one who gave it to him in the first place; himself, maybe, to justify his sudden appearance in the middle of Nick’s lounge; or maybe just, like, the room at large.

“Um,” Nick says. “Yep?”

“So that’s -- um, that’s why I….” Harry trails off, backing hesitantly towards the door. His whole face is red as a tomato, and he stumbles against the end table where Nick sets his post. “Sorry, I just… I mean. What?”

He pulls a strange face, fumbling for the door handle behind him and not quite managing to find it.

“Haz,” Nick says. This is amazing, just as a life experience, but he’s also arse naked, and even though the angle of the sofa to the door means Harry’s probably not seeing _everything_ he might, there’s still not much to disguise the fact that Nick’s on his knees with a cock in front of him -- a cock he’d been sucking enthusiastically when Harry’d burst in unannounced. There’s probably a very small window of time before this goes from uproariously funny to uncomfortable for everyone involved. “D’you need something?”

“I’ve got -- um, I left -- jumper? A jumper?” He’s looking a bit manic, now, frantically looking anywhere in the room like he’s not sure where he’s able to aim his eyes and still remain polite. It’s almost pitiful. Still hilarious, but like. In a pitiful way.

“Can it wait, do you think?” Nick asks patiently. He really, really wants to laugh, but he suspects that might be cruel, as Harry looks like a feather could knock him over, at this point.

“Um, yep, yes, definitely,” Harry agrees. “I’m going to -- and I’ll, like… call you? I’ll come back, but I’ll definitely call first.”

“Great,” Nick says, shifting his left knee. “Can you fuck off now?”

“Sorry,” Harry blurts again. “Just, like. Really, really sorry. To both of you. Um. Bye.”

And with that, he tumbles out the door.

There’s a long moment of silence, and then from the sofa above him, Niall says, “Well, fuck.”

He seems to be exerting just as much effort as Nick is in order not to burst into laughter, at least. “That probably could’ve gone better, then.”

“Oh God,” Nick says, unable to stop the hysterical laughter he can feeling building inside him any longer. It’s just -- Harry’s _face_ when he’d barged in, God. Harry’s so bloody _unflappable_ , is the thing, so willing to accept just about anything with an easy nod, and there’s something roundly satisfying about being able to render him completely speechless, even if it does mean getting interrupted in the middle of giving a blow job that, not to sound self-satisfied, was going _quite_ well up until now. He rests his forehead on the soft skin at the inside of Niall’s thigh, biting down on his lip. If he starts laughing, Niall will start, and they’ll never get back to it.

“D’you think he’s going to have a stroke?” Niall asks tightly, trying to hold himself together. “He looked like he might.”

“You’ll have to replace him,” Nick chokes out. He tries to focus. Niall’s cock is just an inch from his face, still. He doesn’t want to start laughing now -- he wants to finish what he’d started. He suspects there might not be anything for it, though.

“Shit,” Niall says, something breathy and choked-off escaping from him. Nick mentally wills him to hold it in for both their sakes. “That’s gonna be a right pain in my arse. Replacing a band member because Harry fucking Styles can’t knock.”

He doesn’t even get the sentence out all the way before he starts laughing. It sets Nick off following in an instant, and he shuffles awkwardly out of the vee of Niall’s legs as he gasps helplessly for air, cackling like a loon. This might honestly be the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him. He’s going to be an old man on his death bed, and at the last possible moment, he’s going to remember Harry’s eyes bugging out and his mouth gaping like a fish, stammering “um” like he’d forgotten how to do anything else on Earth, and laugh his way into the grave.

“Fuck,” Niall gasps, doubling over. His shoulders are shaking and he’s gone almost silent with laughter, both his hands clutching his face.

“Stop it,” Nick begs, clamboring next to him on the sofa. “Seriously, shut up.” This much laughter has to count as an ab worker, surely.

“His face,” Niall moans into his hands. “Jesus.”

Nick can’t respond to that, because he can’t waste the air, at this point. Briefly, he wonders if someone can actually laugh themselves to death. He supposes if you can, it’s not the worst way to go.

-

 

To be fair, probably Harry’s no more surprised about the fact that Nick’s fucking Niall Horan than Nick is himself. It’s still a bit perplexing to him, honestly, and it’s been happening -- well, he’s reluctant to call it _often_ , but. Regularly Definitely more than once. For a period of time longer than a month. Several times in more than the course of a month.

When he thinks it like that, it seems actually mad.

What’s madder than anything, though, is how _well_ it’s worked out, at least so far. As far as he can tell, he and Niall have pretty much fuck-all in common with a few exceptions -- music as like, a general concept, although quite different sorts, and Harry, and as it turns out, a shared hatred of rocket on hamburgers, movies with subtitles, and too-sugary tea. Niall loves footie, which Nick’s never really learned to give a shit about, and half of the time when Nick mentions a song or a musician he likes, Niall just looks at him blankly and shrugs.

As it turns out, though, that doesn’t seem to matter, because Niall is just -- he’s _fun_. He’s a genuinely fun, genuinely good person; he likes to make people laugh, and his mates, and dogs, and drinking in the afternoon, and those are all things Nick adores as well.

Really, when you get down to it, it’s a lot less ridiculous than it seems.

-

It starts on a Wednesday afternoon when all the lads are in the Radio 1 building, sitting in on a meeting for some elaborate set of promo interviews that’ll take place in a month or so. Nick likes those days, because it gives him an excuse to muck around with Harry and get paid for it all at once.

When they’ve finally finished, the five of them get shuffled off by their usual cadre of handlers, and once Nick’s done a preliminary look through his work emails, he asks where they’ve been sent off to. One of their tall minders points vaguely in the direction of the staff kitchen down the corridor.

When he comes round the corner he expects to see Harry, but the only one to be found is Niall, leaning against a counter, focused intently on his phone. He glances up at Nick briefly as he comes in, but just nods in acknowledgment before turning back to whatever he’s typing.

Nick putters around finding the mug he likes, but the kettle’s slow to heat up, so he waits for a break in whatever it is Niall’s doing, and then when Niall eventually looks up, he makes a politely interested noise.

“Something important?” he asks, nodding at Niall’s mobile. He’d been clutching it the entire morning, frowning at it more often than not, only really looking up when Liam had elbowed him in the side, and then just long enough to nod before turning back to his phone. “Proper popstar business and all that?”

Niall smiles apologetically at him. “Yeah, no, sorry. ‘S’abit rude.” He taps out a final message, the tip of his tongue held carefully between his teeth as he does, and then locks the phone decisively, shoving it into the pocket of his sweatpants. “‘S’like, my ex, sort of -- thing,” he explains, sounding a bit aggrieved. He looks carefully at Nick for a moment, strangely serious, like he’s weighing something out, and then hesitates for a moment before adding, “He’s just being a tit, is all.”

And -- oh. _He_. Nick notices that, of course, and tries not to look surprised. Not that he’d have any reason to, but he hadn’t any idea that Niall Horan had the bloke type of ex-things. All things considered, he’d wager that most people don’t, really. But he _does_ know that tone of voice as clear as anything, remembers using it himself; the deliberately casual pronoun usage that’s anything but off-the-cuff, the careful pacing calculated for the least effect. There’s an art, he thinks, to sussing out who you suppose you can come out to without actually saying as much, and it really only works with someone you can put decent odds on taking the hint to just nod and go along with it rather than turn it into a Thing, capital T.

Admittedly, half his own coming-outs had been -- at least, in theory -- high-drama productions with hand-wringing pronunciations delivered via monologue, since he’d figured that’s how you’re meant to do it, based on television. Only it doesn’t really work so well when you’ve braced yourself for your mum to fling herself on the settee in tears like they always seemed to do on telly, and instead she’d just nodded and said “Well, yes,” and asked you to bring in the wash from the line in the same breath.

With acquaintances, though, it’s a different tact entirely, which is why he recognizes the conversation immediately as if it’s a scene from a play he’s memorized.

“Is that so?” he asks mildly. He reckons that’s the right response -- an acknowledgment, but still plausibly deniable as one.

“Yep,” Niall says simply, shrugging and shoving his hands into his pockets all at once.

“Exes usually are, I’d imagine,” Nick agrees. “S’why they’re exes, innit?”

Niall nods consideringly, and then smiles. “S’pose so, mate.”

Nick shrugs. “You seen the rest of your lot? Harold owes me lunch and I don’t intend to let him weasel his way out of it.”

Niall laughs, then, big and full in the small kitchen. “Good luck, mate, he ran off with Louis somewhere in that direction.” He gestures towards the back offices down the corridor, and Nick grimaces. That’ll probably result in hijinks that he doesn’t particularly care to see the aftermath of.

“Flaky pop stars,” he says, shaking his head a bit sadly. “Always running off on you.”

“Oi,” Niall protests with a grin.

Nick just shrugs, and they lapse into silence as the kettle goes and he finishes assembling his tea.

Eventually, Niall’s pocket starts to buzz audibly, and he sighs, but makes no move to answer.

“You gonna get that?” Nick asks, raising his eyebrows curiously in the general direction of Niall’s sweatpants.

Niall grimaces and shakes his head. “Heard about enough from him today, I think.”

Nick just nods, and tries to look understanding as he sips his tea.

He feels like he ought to say something else, though, and before he can remind himself why it’s maybe a weird offer, he hears himself speaking. “Well, listen, if Haz never turns up, d’you fancy getting a pint with me? I’ve been told by several people that I’m shit at giving advice about exes, but _outstanding_ at getting pissed in the afternoon.”

Niall laughs again, and Nick can’t help but smile -- it’s infectious, the way Niall laughs with his whole body, even at things that aren’t particularly funny.

“D’you know what, mate? That sounds amazing right now. I’d take you up on it if they weren’t herding us straight back to the studio. Raincheck, though?”

Nick grins. “Yeah, all right. Have your people call mine?”

Niall snorts. “Feck off,” he says happily.

“S’later,” Nick grins, turning to go. Niall holds out his fist, and it takes Nick a moment to realize he’s waiting for him to bump it with his own, which he’s pleased to find out he can manage with minimal awkwardness. He thinks that might be the first time anyone in the universe has ever tried to fist bump him, and feels inexplicably charmed by it.

On his way back to the studio, he thinks about tipping Finchy off to Niall’s presence, just to see him go all flappy and frantic. But he glances back before he turns the corner, and can just make out Niall holding his mobile again, frowning at it with renewed vigor, and decides not to. That’d be cruel and unusual, he suspects, considering the look on Niall’s face -- whatever it is he’s dealing with, Nick’s sure it’ll only be worse with an overly-excited Matt Fincham loosed on him.

-

He mostly forgets the offer, just because he doesn’t expect Niall to take him up on it, but a week later a text from an unfamiliar number pings through on his phone while he’s lazily throwing a chewy toy for Puppy in the back garden.

_grimmy its niall, hope u dont mind i got ur ## off haz ! still fancy a pint?? in london &got th evenin free_

He reads it twice, just to be sure.

 _course, mate_ , he replies once he shakes his head and focuses. _can you meet in camden around seven?_

Niall replies with a _yes_ in an instant, and Nick sends off the address of a pub he likes with a private terrace -- it’s been sunny all week, and he intends to take advantage of it if he can by sitting outside. He’s been trying to get a tan, just as an experiment.

He chucks on a clean shirt and spends too long fiddling with his quiff before leaving, so by the time his cab is pulling up at the pub, he’s already fifteen minutes late. It’s still warm, and the sun hasn’t started to set yet, so the streets are a madhouse. He hopes Niall’s gone in and found a place to sit, or else they’ll have to wait, going by how busy it is.

When he comes through to the back patio, though, Niall’s there, set up comfortably at a table in a far corner with two pints already sitting in front of him. It takes Nick a moment to navigate through the crowd of people, and as he does, he notices that Niall’s messing with his mobile almost nervously, checking it and setting it down several times.

He looks like a proper lad more than a pop star, Ray-Bans and snapback in place, complete with a vest for a sports team Nick doesn’t recognize with the arms cut off. For some reason, the sight of it pleases Nick inordinately. He smiles without meaning to as he shoulders through the crowd.

“Grimmy!” Niall says when he spots him.

“Hiya,” Nick says, folding down onto the bench across from him. “Find it all right?”

“Yeah, no problems,” Niall agrees.

“Good, good,” Nick nods, taking the spare pint from Niall gratefully.

There’s a brief moment when the silence seems like it might go awkward -- Nick suddenly conspicuously aware of the fact that they’ve never _really_ spent any time together, at least not just the two of them -- but after a moment Niall asks him about the latest fuck up with the builders at Harry’s new house, which Nick’s heard all about _extensively_ , and is happy to share his opinion on. After that, the conversation is easy enough -- Niall’s chatty and laughs easily, which is exactly the sort of person Nick gets on best with.

“And are, uh -- things better? With the ex-thing?” Nick asks carefully once they’re starting on their second pints. He’s not stupid -- he knows that particular revelation is largely what’s at the heart of this outing, and it feels like he ought to ask in case Niall wants to talk about, like -- all of it. The bothersome ex, the bloke thing, whatever.

Niall just shrugs, though. “I mean, a bit. He’s just…” He makes a vague gesture and rolls his eyes.

“Know what you mean,” Nick agrees.

“Mostly, it’s just…” Niall starts carefully, squinting consideringly. “I mean, it wasn’t even anything serious? And the breakup, or whatever, was more annoying than anything, really, but it just... he’s got a prick, so I can’t really talk about it to anyone. Which gets old, y’know?” He shrugs, taking a long drink and then setting his pint down heavily. “I mean, ‘s’not like I want everyone to know my business, but it’s just -- when you _can’t_ mention it, y’sort of want to.”

“Ah,” Nick says, nodding. “So you chose to talk about it to a prat with a big mouth whose job it is to gossip about celebrities on the radio? Got to say, might not’ve been your best idea.” He twists his mouth into a wry smile.

Niall snorts. “Sounds stupid when you say it like that. Should I be concerned this’ll be the big Radio 1 news item next week? Niall Horan’s Gay Crisis or whatever?” He doesn’t _sound_ particularly concerned, but Nick has the sudden impulse to reassure him anyway.

“Nah,” he says lightly. “Don’t reckon so.”

Niall nods. “All right, then. Anyway, figured you might understand? And Harry trusts you, so.” The _that’s good enough for me_ goes unsaid, but Nick can hear it anyway, and feels oddly proud.

“So this ex is a tit?” he asks again.

“ _Enormous_ ,” Niall groans. “I mean, y’know the people who always know exactly how to piss you off? Yeah. Probably shouldn’t shag those ones. Me, I missed that memo, apparently.” He drinks again, heavily, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand unselfconsciously when he’s done. His lips are quite red, Nick notices without meaning to.

“Dunno, works out alright sometimes,” he says placidly, sipping his own pint. “Makes for a good fuck once in a while, so long as you don’t have to talk to them much afterward.”

Niall raises a curious eyebrow at Nick, his mouth quirked into a strange little smile. His cheeks are a bit red too, come to think of it, and the tops of his shoulders, like he might have a bit of a sunburn.

“True enough,” Niall conceded, angling his glass towards Nick in a half-sort of salute. Nick clinks his own against it, and then gulps down nearly half of it, trying to ignore the curious coil of interest he can feel settling in his stomach.

-

As a diversionary tactic, it doesn’t work, unsurprisingly enough -- getting pissed. If anything, it gets worse, because the more they drink, the more fascinating Nick finds Niall. He’s loud and brash sometimes, a booming laugh that carries across the patio, gesturing largely in a way that Nick finds himself unconsciously mimicking. But he also goes interestingly still, sometimes, going quiet and thoughtful for long moments before answering a question. His face, though, is nearly constantly lit up in a grin.

What getting pissed _does_ result in, however, is letting Niall and his hired car drive him back to his flat once they’ve had their last round, at Niall’s insistence. Nick tries to protest, but only a bit, because he’s quite drunk, and doesn’t particularly feel like trying to find a cab.

Niall’s pissed, too, and he’s telling some story about baby Lux and a messy vom that Nick isn’t quite following but that has him laughing all the same when they pull up at Nick’s, both a bit red-faced from alcohol and laughter.

“Fancy coming in?” Nick asks before he can stop himself as the car stops. “I’ve got wine.”

Niall cocks his head to the side and he looks considering. “Hm. Yeah, maybe. Got any beer?” he asks.

Nick thinks, a bit hazily -- probably, somewhere near the back of his refrigerator, he does. He’s not sure, though, because mostly all he can think about is what a nice afternoon he’s had, and how he doesn’t particularly want it to end just yet.

“Yeah, of course,” he lies.

“Well, I’m in, then,” Niall agrees. He leans forward to mumble something to the driver, and Nick tries to focus on the back of his own hands in his lap rather than the way Niall’s shirt is riding up his lower back.

“Let’s go,” Niall says when he straightens out, and then tumbles out of the car, not waiting for Nick to follow.

He fumbles with his keys at the door, which sets Puppy off barking inside. “Oh, shit -- you’re not like, allergic to dogs, are you?” he asks.

“Oh, shite, forgot you’ve got one!” Niall says happily. “Nah, I fuckin’ love ‘em. Wish we could have on one tour. What’s his name?”

“She’s called Puppy,” Nick says. He shoulders the door in, stumbling a bit as he goes, and shuffles Puppy out of the way with his foot so she doesn’t get directly underneath Niall. “Be good, you beast,” he instructs her, wobbling a bit as he tries to toe his shoes off. “If she jumps up on you you can just shove her off.”

Niall doesn’t seem to hear, though, because he’s immediately crouched down in front of her, letting Puppy gleefully lick his face. “Heya, miss,” he says happily. “Jesus, she’s friendly.”

“Slag for attention,” Nick says, stumbling into the kitchen. “Come get a drink when you’re done with her,” he calls.

He’s bent over and peering into the yellow light of the refrigerator a moment later, trying to scrounge up a lager, when Niall wanders up behind him. There’s moment, and then Niall’s hand rests tentatively on the curve of his hip. “What’ve y’got?” he asks, a bit quietly.

Nick straightens up, but doesn’t move away from Niall’s hand. “Think I might’ve lied about the beer,” he says, turning around and shutting the refrigerator.

Niall’s just there, close up in his space, still smiling easily, although he’s holding himself a bit more rigidly than usual. “‘S’alright,” he says easily. “Reckon I’m not that interested in a drink anyway.” His hand is still lingering warm on Nick’s hip, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Interested in something else, then?” he asks.

Niall grins sharper. “Might be.”

He steps forward, then, just once, until he’s nearly touching Nick. His hand trails up from Nick’s hip to his jaw, solid and warm, and then he presses up on his toes and kisses Nick carefully.

“Ah,” Nick says once Niall pulls back, just an inch. “C’mere.” He fits his hands on Niall’s hips -- they’re slim, especially in comparison to his broad shoulders, and he moves easily as Nick pulls him up against him, flush, leaning back against the refrigerator. 

When Niall kisses him again, it’s far less hesitant, his mouth insistent on Nick’s, hot and slick, his tongue tracing the seam of Nick’s lip before he parts them with a groan. _Shit_ , but he’s _good_ at this.

He fits one hand in the short hairs at the nape of Niall’s neck, holding him in, because Jesus, he suddenly _wants_ quite badly -- wants to turn Niall around and press him against the cool metallic door of the refrigerator, bite down at the juncture of his neck and shoulder to see if it goes red, get a thigh between his leg and feel him getting hard in his basketball shorts.

To do those things, though, he probably needs to pull himself together, because Niall’s mouth is making him feel fluttery and light-headed, and all he seems to be able to manage at the moment is to hold firmly onto Niall’s hips and keep them pressed against his as they kiss.

“This okay?” Niall asks with a gasp, his blunt fingertips finding the waistband of Nick’s jeans and pressing in.

“More than,” Nick admits with a groan.

“Thank God,” Niall says with a huff of a laugh. “‘Cos I’d really like to suck you off, if  that’s alright with you.”

Nick, somehow, doesn’t choke on his own tongue, just nods enthusiastically as Niall fumbles the zip of his jeans open and yanks them down as he sinks to kneel in front of Nick.

“Don’t -- don’t you have a dodgy knee?” Nick asks. He knows from Harry that Niall was out of commission earlier in the year for surgery or summat. “Don’t wanna -- _fuck_.” His hips jerk involuntarily as Niall peels his pants down, his prick slapping hard against his stomach. “Cripple a fifth of One Direction,” he gasps out.

Niall just looks up at him, and Jesus, that’s… that’s dangerous. Nick could get used to the sight of Niall Horan, flushed and on his knees for him, peering up through his pale eyelashes.

“Reckon this’ll take long?” Niall asks, fitting his hand around Nick’s cock and jerking it slowly.

Nick’s head thunks back against the refrigerator, because, yeah, okay. Probably not.

Niall just hums in a self-satisfied sort of way, and then licks his lips before closing them around Nick’s prick.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Nick whines. One of Niall’s hands has come up to press his hips against the refrigerator and his mouth is hot and wet and relentless -- Nick hasn’t got anywhere to go besides Niall’s mouth, and when he can manage, he thrusts in shallowly.

“Mm,” Niall murmurs around him, the vibrations straight up Nick’s spine. “You can,” he says, pulling off for a moment. “Like, fuck my mouth, if you want.”

Nick hasn’t got anything smart to say to that, so he just nods weakly while Niall closes his eyes and sucks him again.

It _is_ an embarrassingly quick time before Nick’s knees start to go wobbly, tension coiling in his stomach. “Gonna come,” he admits, raking his fingers through Niall’s hair.

Niall doesn’t answer, but he looks up at Nick for a moment and then carries on exactly as before, bobbing his mouth up and down over the length of Nick’s prick until he lets out a garbled sound and comes hot in Niall’s mouth, eyes clamped shut so hard he sees pinpricks of light.

“Christ,” he mumbles when his breath comes back to him. Niall’s rising unsteadily to his feet, smiling a self-satisfied way. “Where’d that come from, then?” he asks.

Niall just shrugs, and presses the heel of his hand to his own dick, tenting the front of his basketball shorts out. “Fulla surprises, I am,” he says. “You got a bedroom in here?”

Nick’s response as he crowds up against Niall is more garbled whine than actual human words.

He maneuvers Niall in his bed easily, somehow, flopping him down among his mass of pillows. Niall goes easily, smiling as he rearranges himself, his vest slipping down his shoulder and cock hard in his shorts. Nick feels strangely inclined to prop his knee up with a cushion or something, feeling a twinge of guilt that he’d had to kneel on the tile at all, even if it wasn’t for very long. But Niall seems unbothered, at least, just yanks his shirt over his head leaving his hair a bit askew, and then raises his eyebrows expectantly at Nick. “Y’comin’?” he asks.

Nick is, definitely, and nods frantically as he tries to pull his own t-shirt and jeans off at the same time. It doesn’t work, unsurprisingly, so he ignores Niall’s laughter and tries to focus on doing one _then_ the other.

Niall’s got his own shorts off by the time Nick manages, and it stops Nick in his tracks for a moment, the sight of Niall naked. He’s small and wiry but somehow _solid_ , flushed down the length of his pale sides and spattered with freckles here and there. And oh, his cock is decidedly pretty -- Nick wants to get his mouth on it at once.

“Gonna stare all night?” Niall asks as Nick knees up the bed to lean over him.

“Just appreciating a nice view if that’s quite alright with you,” Nick says, but leans down to kiss Niall anyway, because he’s never been much good at denying himself something he wants.

“There you go,” Niall mumbles into his mouth, humming with approval when Nick reaches down to stroke his prick.

He’s slick under Nick’s hand, which makes his pulse flutter, and after a moment he has to force himself to pull away from Niall’s mouth to rearrange himself in the vee of Niall’s legs.

Niall’s hand hovers next to his head as he leans in to fit his mouth over his cock, and Nick leans into it carefully. Niall gets the message, and twists his fingers in Nick’s hair -- not pulling, just resting there as Nick sucks him off slowly.

He’s responsive, which is Nick’s favorite sort -- he loves to see the effect he has on someone, making them come apart. Niall’s hips buck and he moans appreciatively beneath Nick, swearing under his breath. Nick can’t help but preen, a bit.

When he thinks Niall’s about to come he pulls back, getting a whine from Niall. “Fuck, Grimmy, don’t _stop_ , y’arse,” he moans.

“Don’t be a brat,” Nick scolds, pleased. He waits a moment, and then trails his free hand between Niall’s legs, slick with spit and precome. “Can I?” he asks, tracing the edge of Niall’s hole gently.

“Fuck, fuck, do it,” Niall agrees, wriggling his hips to try and chase Nick’s hand.

Nick obliges, pressing in one damp finger slowly as he refits his mouth around Niall. “Jesus,” Niall whines hoarsely, squirming like he’s not sure what to do with himself. Nick just redoubles is efforts, feeling pleased with himself.

“Gonna -- come, Nick,” Niall warns after a moment. “C’mere, please.” He tugs gently on Nick’s hair, guiding him back up to his mouth. Nick follows obediently, because Niall asked nicely. He refits himself along Niall’s side, working his finger inside Niall’s hole steadily and kissing him messily while Niall reaches down to wank himself off. It’s only a few twists of Niall’s wrists before Nick can feel his arse clenching around his finger, and then Niall’s shooting off up his chest, gasping into Nick’s mouth as he does.

“Christ,” he breathes out once he’s got his breath back. Nick carefully works his finger out of Niall, feeling altogether too pleased with himself, and then sits up slowly, flexing his wrist.

“Go get us a flannel, then,” Niall says eventually, sprawled bonelessly like he never plans to move again.

Nick raises his eyebrows. “Is that it? I’m your manservant now?”

Niall just nods happily. “Yep. Go on.”

Nick rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but smile as he goes. On his way, Niall reaches out and smacks lazily at his arse, sending him jumping a bit. “Good lad,” he calls after Nick.

Nick dutifully retrieves a flannel, washing his hands in the toilet and bringing a clean one to Niall before going to let Puppy out one last time and turning all the lights off. When he’s finished, he flops back down on the bed with Niall, who’s still naked and sprawled across two thirds of the enormous bed.

“I’ll call my car in a bit,” Niall says lazily.

Nick just shrugs. “If y’like,” he says. It’s late, and Niall’s eyes are drooping, so he’s a bit skeptical that’ll happen, but he doesn’t mind a sleepover now and then, so it’s no bother. He’s fucking knackered as well, anyway, and he’ll have to like, get up and let Niall out if he does go. Frankly, he’d rather just stay in bed.

“In a bit,” Niall repeats through a yawn, eyes already shut.

-

Niall’s not in bed when Nick wakes up, but Puppy is, and he can hear clattering of pans in the kitchen, so he supposes he hasn’t gone far. That, or there’s a burglar who’s stopped to cook something.

He shuffles around the bedroom looking for clothes slowly, and then takes a piss before wandering into the kitchen, which smells fucking delicious. His stomach rumbles appreciatively when he sees that Niall’s got a mountain of toast set out, and some sort of eggs going on the hob. And coffee. God bless Niall Horan.

“Morning,” he says.

“Hey,” Niall says, smiling at him for a moment before turning back to the eggs. He’s got his basketball shorts on, but he’s shirtless, and Nick can see a few fading red marks along his flank that he realizes must be his own handiwork. “Hope you don’t mind, but I was starvin’.”

“Not at all,” Nick says, settling down in a chair. “You can cook?”

“‘Course I can, Grimmy,” Niall says, sounding affronted. “What d’ya take me for?”

Nick shrugs. “Spoiled pop star with a personal chef?” he guesses. It’s a lie, really, but Niall just laughs.

“Been cooking since I was ten, I’ll have you know,” he says lightly, humming as he chucks half an omelet onto the plate in front of Nick and then plops down next to him with his own. “Eat up, then. I require a lot of praise, and my culinary talents aren’t going to compliment themselves.”

Nick’s not one to argue with half-naked blokes and a free breakfast, so he just shrugs does as Niall says. It’s so good a whimper escapes him, and Niall smirks at him in a self-satisfied way.

“You’re full of surprises, Horan,” Nick says around a mouthful of eggs. Niall just grins.

-

Niall’s busy for the next two weeks, but he texts Nick occasionally, just little things -- questions about the lyrics to a song he heard on the radio, pictures of Harry wearing something stupid on his head with the caption idiot, that sort of thing.

It’s nice, because Nick’s not really sure what trajectory this whole -- thing is meant to take. Usually with his one-offs, they get off and go back to not speaking. That hardly seems right in this case, though -- Nick’s one-time shags are usually strangers and he and Niall are at least _friendly_ , if not proper friends yet. He’s not quite sure what the dynamic there is meant to be, shagging an acquaintance-stroke-best-mate’s-bandmate.

So Nick’s glad to let Niall set the pace, texting him occasionally about recording and rehearsals and nonsense football scores and what Nick’s up to at the station. It’s mostly just platonic, to the point where Nick suspects the sex part at least was a one-off -- right up until the point when Niall texts him at one in the morning on a Tuesday about how he can’t sleep because he’s hard thinking about Nick’s mouth.

That one results in Nick wanking off in bed when he ought to be asleep, so. Maybe a bit less platonic.

-

Eventually, Niall turns up in London with a free evening again, and happily texts Nick to invite himself over.

_back tnight im coming over with pizza if ur home ! are ya?_

Nick grins, tossing aside the remote -- all he’s been doing is flipping between Bake-Off and something with a shirtless bloke, too vaguely horny and hungry at the same time to get properly invested in either one. Seems like a solution to both those problems might’ve just turned up, though.

 _yeah, i’m home_ , he confirms. _bring loads, i’m starvin._

-

Niall ends up staying over again after Nick fucks him, that night.

After that, yeah. It just sort of keeps happening.

-

Technically, he supposes what they’re doing after that is like, _dating_ , or something. Not that they’ve _talked_ about it -- Nick suspects they’re both equally unexcited by the prospect of that particular conversation -- but they’re shagging, and holing up and watching shit television when they’re both free, and occasionally getting brunch, so. Yeah, as far as Nick can tell -- dating. Ish.

Then the whole Harry thing happens.

He spends the rest of the week afterward texting Nick at odd hours, apologizing and demanding explanations in equal parts, which Nick waves off as unnecessary and deliberately ignores in turn. According to Niall, he’s getting the same treatment, only in person -- Harry’s taken to cornering him in loos, apparently. It sounds a bit alarming. He suspects Harry’ll lose interest in feeling put out eventually, though, so he’s not too bothered. That ought to be the end of it.

If Nick’s life was normal, or anything near it, Harry walking in on him giving Niall a blowie would be the most absurd thing to happen to him in the span of a week. Of course, though, it isn’t. Friday proves to be somehow even more ridiculous, when Nick walks into the empty studio after the show and finds Matt with Nick’s mobile in his hand, scrolling through with a very strange expression fixed on his face.

That can’t be good, then.

“Why,” Matt asks slowly, with something in his voice -- horror? respect? awe? -- that Nick can’t quite place. “Why have you got… Nick.” He looks up from Nick’s mobile. “Please tell me this isn’t really Niall Horan’s dick you’ve got on your phone.”

“Um,” Nick says.

“Because even you wouldn’t be that ridiculous,” Matt says, hysteria creeping into his voice. “Not even you, Nick Grimshaw, would live _such_ an absurd life as to have left a conversation with Niall Horan open on your bloody iPhone where he’s _sent you a picture of his dick_.”

Oh, Nick thinks. He, um. He supposes he might’ve.

“In my defense, I have a passcode?” he says weakly. He’s also given that same passcode to Matt loads of times, yes, but he still thinks it’s worth saying anyway.

“Jesus,” Matt moans. “I mean, _Jesus_ , Nick, _really_?” He drops the phone on the desk and stares at it like it’s a bomb. Nick swoops in and grabs it, although at this point, the damage seems to be mostly done. Matt stares up at him dazedly as he does.

“Y’know, that’s exactly the face Harry made when he walked in on us on Monday,” Nick says idly, because it is -- dead on in the gaping mouth, in particular. Matt’s eyes go comically wide.

“He did _what?_ ” he asks, panic rising in his voice. “No, Jesus, never mind, don’t tell me.” He puts his head down wearily on the desk, apparently now incapable of speech.

Nick pats him consolingly on the back as he backs out of the room, and thinks optimistically that maybe, if the end result of this whole thing is that Matt goes temporarily mute, it might not be the worst possible scenario. Less hysterically funny than the thing with Harry, because Matt’s a lot better at holding grudges, but still potentially good for a laugh. Nick’s always looking for new ways to terrorize Matt, and this might be the perfect opportunity fallen straight into his lap.

-

On Sunday morning, there’s a banging on his front door, and when Nick grudgingly drags himself over to see who it is, he realizes exactly how wrong he’d been.

“Christ,” he groans, pulling the door open. “What in the actual fuck are you two doing here together?”

Matt and Harry stand on the front step, shoulder to shoulder. Matt’s arms are crossed over his chest, and Harry’s wearing his most absurd headscarf yet. He looks like a lady pirate.

“This is an intervention,” Harry informs him seriously.

Well. That answers Nick’s first question. Sort of, at least.

“I see. And dare I ask for what?” He suspects he knows, but he wants to force them to say it out loud so they can hear precisely how stupid it sounds when they do.

“Your -- _tawdry affair_ ,” Matt splutters. Nick wonders if he’s done anything _but_ splutter and go red in the face for the past forty-eight hours, since that’s what he was doing when Nick last saw him as well. For himself, Nick’s spent it shagging a fit, enthusiastic boy and eating takeaway, which seems like a lot more fun.

“We’re concerned,” Harry explains neutrally. Nick can just about see the calming, good-cop aura he’s trying to project here, which is tempered a bit by Harry’s natural inclination to throw a fit when he’s not getting his way. “It’s just… it’s not like the two of you to keep this sort of secret. We think we should’ve been in the loop.”

“I see,” Nick says mildly. ““So not so much an intervention as a protracted complaint, then.”

Harry opens his mouth, and then shuts it without answering. Nick sighs. “ _Niall_ ,” he shouts back into the house. If this is happening, he’s not dealing with it on his own. He also doesn’t particularly want to let this two-man parade of idiots into his house, but he supposes maybe they’d better not stand around at the door too long either.

Matt’s eyes go wide. “He’s here right now?”

“Is that his shirt you’re wearing?” Harry asks accusatorily. “It _is_ , I know that’s not yours. I recognize it.”

Nick glances down at the shirt he’s got on -- it is Niall’s, actually, but that’s only because it’d been the closest thing to the bed that morning. “And?” he asks.

Matt gurgles like he’s having some sort of aneurism.

Nick gently bangs his head against the doorframe. When he’s done, Niall’s appeared at his elbow, slurping noodles out of a takeaway carton.

“Hello,” he says good-naturedly. “The fuck are you lot doing here?”

“It’s an intervention,” Nick explains wearily. “They’re sore we didn’t send out a formal announcement we were shagging.”

“Well,” Niall says cheerfully. “That sounds fucking stupid. Y’coming in?” With that, he disappears back into Nick’s house like he owns the place.

-

Nick herds them into the garden, because Puppy wants to go out, and maybe the fresh air will be good for their brains, assuming they’ve still got them.

“How long?” Matt demands. It’s the nearest to a full sentence he’s managed so far, and Nick feels vaguely proud.

“Month or so?” Niall shrugs.

“And you’re, like, happy?” Harry asks.

“Apart from when I’m being interrogated or walked in on while shagging in my own flat,” Nick grumbles.

“You should’ve told us,” Harry frowns. “We could’ve, like… helped, y’know?”

“What, help us suck each other off?” Nick asks, blinking.

“No,” Harry sulks. “Like… y’know, if you wanted to talk about your feelings? Or throw people off the trail, like.”

Niall laughs, shaking his head. “The fuck does that mean? ‘The trail,’ Christ.”

That just sets Harry off sulking further.

“It’s the principle! How would you feel if the two of us were secretly snogging?” Matt asks a bit hysterically.

Nick pauses, considering, and then shrugs. “Hm. Dunno. Give it a go, then, let’s see.”

The faces they both pull at that are perhaps one of the most deeply satisfying things Nick’s ever seen.

“I don’t -- I mean, obviously that’s not…” Matt trails off. His face has gone splotchy. Honestly, if Nick had known his mates would go this berserk, he might’ve told them he was shagging Niall ages ago just for that alone.

“‘S’a good idea, that,” Niall agrees from beside him. “It’ll help paint a picture of the betrayal you’re experiencing.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Matt protests. “It’s just that -- this one, like, he can _never_ keep his mouth shut about who he’s shagging, and it’s just strange that--”

Whatever it is he thinks is strange, though, gets cut off by Harry attacking his face with perhaps one of the most alarming kisses Nick’s ever witnessed. It looks very -- bitey. Matt mostly just flails.

“See?” Harry demands when he’s done. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

Matt’s gone incoherent again.

There’s a very quiet moment, and then Nick starts laughing hysterically, his whole body going shaky and silent. This is by and away the most absurd thing that’s happened to anyone in the history of mankind.

Niall’s cackling along with him, thankfully, which only seems to perturb Harry and Matt further. They’re both a bit red in the face.

“Your, erm, concern is appreciated,” Nick says once they choke back their laughter. He rises up to usher Harry and Matt back into the flat and, ideally, out the door. “If a bit, like, weirdly expressed. So -- we’re sorry, yeah?” He makes a meaningful face at Niall that he hopes reads _for Christ’s sake, play along or they’ll never leave._

“Oh. Yeah, very sorry,” Niall agrees, who still seems to be on the verge of losing it again. “We should’ve, um--”

“Stated our intentions,” Nick continues, waving them towards the door. “And, like…”

“Let you know?” Niall finishes. They’re collectively herding Matt and Harry out, now, like a pair of confused kittens. “Asked for your blessing?”

Nick suppresses another laughing fit. They’re nearly to the door -- he can do this.

“Well,” Harry says warily. “As long as you like, understand where we’re coming from…”

If Matt has anything to say, he seems to have forgotten it in the wake of briefly snogging Harry Styles.

“Sure,” Nick agrees. “Understood. Crystal clear.”

“Fuck off, now,” Niall suggests amiably. There’s a second just after they cross the threshold that Nick thinks Harry’s going to start protesting again, but because he’s brilliant, Niall seizes the moment and shuts the door firmly in their faces an instant before they both burst out in laughter again.

“Those two,” Niall gasps out, “are entirely too concerned in what we’re doing with our dicks.”

“I honestly think their brains are broken,” Nick says through his laughter, leading Niall back into the lounge by the hand.

“God,” Niall says, flopping down on the couch. His face has gone red, and it’s spreading down to his collarbones. “C’mere,” he adds, yanking Nick by the wrist so he collapses atop him.

“They’re idiots,” Nick mumbles, leaning into it easily when Niall brings their lips together, still laughing even as he kisses him. Niall’s mouth is sweet and warm and Nick’s still laughing as he nudges in closer, bringing their hips together.

“Total idiots,” Niall agrees. He hasn’t let go of Nick’s wrist as he licks into his mouth, and suddenly Nick wants to be a lot closer to him. Ideally, without any clothes in between. “We love ‘em anyway, though.”

“God -- God knows why,” Nick manages to get out, but then Niall bites at his lip, and he forgets what they were talking about.

When he’s got Niall bent over the arm of the sofa ten minutes later, gasping and swearing into the cushions as Nick fucks into him, he thinks it’s lucky he can remember his own name. Nick something, he’s pretty sure it is.

-

Let it not be said, though, that Nick is the type of person to let his friends suffer for too long, even if those friends are idiots of the highest water. Anyway, he knows he’ll never hear the end of it if he doesn’t humor them, and idiots though they are, Niall's right -- he loves them.

He waits til the next weekend and then sprawls out in the back garden with Puppy and his mobile, digging his toes into the grass. It’s warm and the sun is shining, and it’ll be a lovely night for a cookout, he reckons. He knows Niall's handy with a grill.

 _You are cordially invited to come round tonight at like, 10ish or summat, for dinner and drinks at the home of Mr. Nicholas Peter Grimshaw, co-hosting the evening with Mr. Niall I Dunno His Middle Name Horan, whom Mr. Grimshaw is currently shagging at fairly regular intervals. RSVP regrets only,_ he sends off the Matt and Harry in iMessage.   _FORMAL ENOUGH, YOU TITS???????_ he adds afterward.

Harry responds immediately with fourteen unique animal emojis, and Matt eventually just sends off a photo of his own middle finger, which Nick takes to mean yes from both.

 _xxxxxx_ he sends them both, and then hits Niall’s number, picking idly at the knee of his jeans while it rings. He’s going to need a lot of alcohol to deal with tonight, plus something to feed them so they’ll at least be too busy eating to harass him for a while. Maybe Niall can stop by the shops on his way over, or Nick and Puppy can go meet him. Either way -- it works for him.


End file.
